Cle. Come Sir, I know you are sickly, so are your men.
Dor. I must confess I am weak,
And fitter for a bed than long discourses.
Cle. You shall hear to morrow, to morrow provide Surgeons.
Dor. Lisander—
Cal. What new fire is this? Lisander— [Exeunt.
Actus Secundus. Scena Prima.
Enter Lisander, and Lancelot.
Lis. Prethee good Lancelot remember that
Thy Master's life is in thy trust, and therefore
Be very carefull.
Lanc. I will lose mine own, rather than hazard yours.